"Elise has money, then?"
"The money is all hers except my pitiful third that the law allows me, and I had to go into that a little to keep Ponsonby Huntington in a good humor. However, Elise cannot get control of her money until she is twenty-five and I have several years yet. She is quite equal to throwing me over in spite of all I have done for her." Mrs. Huntington spoke with a rancor that was really astounding to Molly, whose own mother was so different that the girl had an idea that all mothers must have some of Mrs. Brown's qualities.
"Oh, I am sure you are mistaken in judging your daughter thus severely! She must have inherited from George some other traits along with the artistic talent."
"That is just it. She inherited from him this very tendency to be hard on me. Was it kind or right for George to leave all the money to her; and to me, his devoted and long-suffering wife, nothing more than the law exacted? My only hope is that she may marry a man rich enough to make a handsome settlement on me. One who will have money enough not to regard Elise's fortune at all, except, perhaps, to realize the necessity of turning it over to me. Now tell me: do you think the Latin Quarter a likely place for a girl to find such a husband?"
"Oh, I don't know. You did pretty well there, and if you had waited for me, you might have done even better from a financial standpoint, as I have been very successful as the world takes it. Perhaps poor little Elise might have equal luck. Oh, Lizzie, Lizzie, how changed you are! You have spoken only of money and position and society; never once of love and humanity. I can't bear to see you this way. When I think of you as a girl with your soft, sweet manner and no more worldliness than a kitten, I can hardly bear to contemplate this change in you."
"Oh la, la, Tom, you and I know that a kitten only takes a year to grow into a horrid cat, and as you so brutally and frankly put it, I have had about twenty-five years to grow and sharpen my claws. You struck this note first in our conversation. I was prepared to be as nice as you once thought me, but I saw how cynical you had grown and I knew there was no use in putting on; so I have rather enjoyed showing you my true self. Anyhow, you are grateful to me for throwing you over, now that you see what I am. Is it not so?"
Mr. Kinsella did not answer for a moment, but finally said, changing the subject: "There is one thing I am going to ask of you for auld lang syne and I think maybe you will grant it: let Elise put in this winter in a good studio in Paris. She is hungry for a long period of uninterrupted work and I know it will soften her toward you instead of hardening her; and I feel sure that when the dreaded twenty-fifth birthday arrives, she will want to settle half of the fortune on you. Do this for me, Lizzie. I guarantee it will come out well for you."
Mrs. Huntington hesitated for a moment and then by a quick calculation came to the conclusion that it would be a good thing, after all, and would leave her free to go where she chose. She well knew how cheaply a girl could board in Paris when she was at work in a studio, and, as Tom said, there was every chance of her picking up a rich husband among the students. There were always some young men who were rolling in wealth, but still had the artistic bee in their bonnets.
"I'll do it, Tom, but if it turns out badly I'll have you to thank."
"Lizzie, now you are more like your old self and I am grateful to you for this concession. Come, let us find Elise and tell her the good news."
Molly was indeed glad to have the interview over. It was against her whole honest nature to eavesdrop, but she felt it best for all concerned for her to remain quiet. As soon as Mr. Kinsella and Mrs. Huntington had disappeared, Molly beat a hasty retreat to her stateroom where her mother was looking for her, not being able to find her on deck.
"Oh, Mother, I am so excited!" And she told Mrs. Brown all about her forced concealment during the intimate conversation between the old lovers.
"It is very interesting, certainly, and I hardly know how you could help being a listener. Since it will go no farther, as of course neither of us will ever mention the matter to a soul, it will do no harm. I wish you had not had to hear it, however, as I hate for my Molly to realize that such women as Mrs. Huntington exist, so cold and selfish and worldly. I am glad poor Elise is to be allowed to stay in Paris all winter and work. Perhaps we can make up to her some for her mother's heartlessness."
So mother and daughter kissed and went to bed; Molly waked the next morning with no trace of seasickness, ready and eager to enjoy the rest of the voyage.
The trip was delightful to both mother and daughter. They made many acquaintances on board, but Elise O'Brien and the two Kinsellas they counted among their real friends. So closely were the five thrown together on the voyage, that they often said it seemed as though they had known one another all their lives. Mrs. Huntington kept to herself much of the time. She seemed to realize that it was policy to let Elise have as good a time as she could with her father's old friend and his nephew; and since the Browns seemed to have influential and wealthy friends, they could, at least, do her daughter no harm, and might even prove useful during the girl's sojourn in Paris.
Elise bloomed in this congenial atmosphere and did not look like the same girl. She had a ready wit, was quick at repartee, and after a while her tongue lost its bitterness and her sarcastic humor became much more genial.
Mr. Kinsella would often say: "That is like your father. He had the kindest humor in the world and was truly Irish in his wit." But when she was too critical or inclined to let her wit run away with her heart, he would shake his head and look sad; and the girl began to care what her father's friend thought of her, and tried to please him.
She had liked Molly from the minute they clasped hands when Pierce introduced them, and this liking grew to enthusiastic love. She had had few intimates and this friendship was wonderful to her. Mr. Kinsella realized the importance of this wholesome influence on his charge, (he had made Elise his charge ever since he wrung from her mother the promise to let her continue her studies in art), and he did everything to throw the girls together and give them opportunities to talk their eager girls' talk.
"I hate to think of the journey coming to an end," said Molly. "It has been splendid; but if the trip is nearly over, our friendship has just begun! And what times we can have in Paris! Isn't it great that you and Judy know each other and that the three of us are so congenial?"
Elise looked sad. "Yes, it is fine, but I know you and Judy will want me out of the way. You are such old friends, and I shall always feel like an interloper."
"Oh, Elise, Elise! You must not feel that way for an instant. Judy and I love each other a whole lot, but we are not a bit inclined to pair off and not make new friends. Judy is more than likely already to have begun a big affair of friendship with somebody. She will get so thick with that one that she will have no time for anyone else; and then she will find out the person is not the paragon she had imagined and come weeping back to me," said Molly, throwing her arm around Elise and giving her a warm hug.
"Well, let's enjoy the few hours left to us. It seems hardly possible that this is the same, stupid old boat that we boarded a little over a week ago. I hated it, our stuffy stateroom, the crowded table; and then I always dread a long voyage with Mamma. She gets so cross and overbearing when she is cut off from society and amusements and——" Elise stopped suddenly. She felt Molly's friendly arm growing slack around her waist and she realized that her new friends, the Browns, could not tolerate her impertinent remarks to and about her mother. "Oh, Molly, please excuse me. I am trying to be nicer about Mamma. It is awfully ill-bred of me to speak of her in that way, no matter how I feel."
"Elise, why don't you try to feel differently and then it would be impossible for you to speak so?"
"Oh, Molly, I will try." And it shows she was already trying, for she did not add what was in her heart to say, "If you only knew my mother you would not ask that of me."
"Judy! Judy! I can't believe that we are really here, that this is Paris, and that you are you! As for me, I feel like 'there was an old woman as I've heard tell' who said 'Lawk a mercy on me, this surely can't be I.'"
Molly settled herself with a sigh of supreme enjoyment on the lumpy seat of an extremely rickety taxi that Judy had engaged to take the Browns from the station to Mrs. Pace's very exclusive pension on the Boulevard St. Michel.
"It does seem almost too good to be true that I have got you and your dear mother at last. I have not been able to work for a week because of the excitement of expectation. I went over to Monroe's this morning and got your mail. I could hardly lug it home, both of you had such a batch. You see, the mail has beaten your slow steamer in and everyone is writing to have a greeting ready for you in Paris." And Judy, who was in the middle, put embracing arms around both Mrs. Brown and Molly as they rode down the Avenue de l'Opera.
How wonderful Paris looked to them on that clear, crisp day in autumn! She was showing her best and most smiling aspect to the travelers, which delighted Judy, as she felt quite responsible for her beloved city and wanted her friends to like it as much as she did. They passed various points of interest which Judy pointed out with pride, and which brought answering thrills from Mrs. Brown and Molly.
The streets were gay with little pushcarts, laden with chrysanthemums and attended by the most delightful looking old women. Everyone seemed to be in a good humor and no one in much of a hurry except the chauffeurs, and they went whizzing by at a most incredible speed through the crowded thoroughfares.
"How clean the streets are!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown. "And what a good smell!"
"Oh, I just wondered if you would notice the smell! That is Paris. 'Every city has an odor of its own,' Papa says, and I believe he is right. Paris smells better than New York, although I like the smell in New York, too; but Paris has a strange freshness in its odor that reminds me of flowers and good things to eat, and suggests gay times, rollicking fun and adventure."
"Same old Judy," laughed Molly, "with her imagination on tap."
Just then they ran under the arches of the Louvre into the Place du Carrousel, and Molly held her breath with wonder and delight. Then came the Seine with its beautiful bridges, its innumerable boats, and its quays with the historic secondhand book stalls where Edwin Green had looked forward to walking with her, searching for treasures of first editions and what not. "Never mind," thought Molly, "Professor Green may come later and the first editions will keep."
"There is the wonderful statue of Voltaire, and through this street you can catch a glimpse of the Beaux Arts," chanted Judy. "Now look out, for before you know it we will be in the aristocratic Faubourg St. Germain,—and then the Luxembourg Gardens,—and here we are at our own respectable door before we are ready for it! Now Mrs. Pace will eat both of you up for a while and I cannot get a word in edgewise."
The Pension Pace was on the corner where a small street ran into the broad boulevard at a sharp angle, making the building wedge-shaped. It was a very imposing looking house and Mrs. Brown wondered at a woman being able to conduct such a huge affair. She expressed her surprise to Judy, who informed her that Mrs. Pace had only the three upper floors and that the other flats were let to different tenants.
"The elevator takes us to the fifth floor, where Mrs. Pace has her parlors, dining salon and swellest boarders,—at least the boarders able to pay the most. Of coursewedo not think that they are the swellest, since we are on the seventh floor ourselves. Who so truly swell as we?" Judy got out of the taxi with such an assumption of great style that the chauffeur, much impressed, demanded a largerpourboirethan she saw fit to give him.
"They always try to make you pay more, no matter what you offer. I am adamant, however, where cabbies and chauffeurs are concerned. Papa says, 'Look after the tips and the legitimate expenses will look after themselves.' So I look after the tips and trust to luck for the rest to come out right. I am not much of an economist, I fear, but I am learning, now that I am on a strict allowance."
An elevator, so slow that its progress was almost imperceptible, took them to the fifth floor where Mrs. Pace was in readiness to receive them. Her greeting was very cordial and condescending. She seemed to be taking them under her protecting wing, giving them to understand that with her they had nothing more to fear or worry about; and as Molly and her mother had nothing in particular to worry about and certainly nothing to fear, they were very much amused by her attitude toward them. Judy was purple with suppressed merriment as Mrs. Pace advised them to go right to bed, to rest up from their long journey, poor sick, miserable, friendless females.
Mrs. Brown assured her that she was not at all tired and never felt better in her life; that she had made many friends on the steamer; and that she would freshen up a bit with some soap and water and then go out for a walk with Miss Julia Kean. Mrs. Brown had reckoned without her host, however, as the intrepid Mrs. Pace took them to their room on the seventh floor, just across the hall from Judy's, and did not leave them until they were in their kimonos and actually lying down.
"You must not try to keep up, dear ladies, when you are overfatigued and ill. Bed is the best place for you, bed and quiet. Miss Kean had better leave you now and let you have a little nap."
While Mrs. Pace talked, she had plumped up their pillows and lowered the shade of the one large window, opened their suitcases and got out their kimonos and, despite their feeble protest, had actually undressed them and put them to bed! Then, forcibly ejecting Judy, she shut the door with admonitions for them to sleep until dinner at six-thirty.
Judy went very dutifully to her room until she heard the last of Mrs. Pace's ponderous tread on the stairs; then she crept softly to the Browns' door and gently opened it to find Mrs. Brown and Molly rolling on the bed, overcome with laughter.
"Oh, oh, oh! She has taken at least forty-five years off of my age," giggled Mrs. Brown like a veritable boarding-school miss. "I have never in my life seen such a born boss as the redoubtable Mrs. Pace! Did you see her undo my belt and take off my skirt? I could not have felt more like a child if my waist had been a pinafore instead of a respectable black silk. And as for Molly, she was treated as though she were just about old enough to go into rompers." And they all went off into peals of laughter.
"Well, now is the time to take a stand or you will never be able to," said Judy. "I defied her from the first and she lets me alone wonderfully."
"Yes, I noticed how you withstood her authority when you were sent to your room!" grinned Molly, as she got back into the clothes that had been forcibly removed only five minutes before. "I see you have sneaked in our letters and I, for one, am going to read mine, and then if we can get down stairs without the dragon devouring us, let's take a walk. We shall have plenty of time before dinner."
They accordingly read their letters and crept down stairs and out on the street for a breath of air and a stroll in the Luxembourg Gardens. It was too late to try to see the pictures in the Gallery of the Luxembourg and, after all, they had the winter before them. And now that she was out on the street, having escaped the dragon, Mrs. Brown confessed to feeling a little mite tired, so they sat down on a bench in the Gardens and watched the children play.
"Poor Mrs. Brown, of course you are tired! That is the most irritating thing about Mrs. Pace: she is always right. 'It is best to rest after a trip whether you feel tired or not, as the reaction after a journey is obliged to come, and you pay up for it to-morrow if you do not rest to-day'," and Judy imitated Mrs. Pace to the life.
"Well, you may be sure, my dear girls, that wild horses will not drag the fact from me in the presence of the dragon, even if I am weary unto death. Does she coerce all her boarders as she did me, Judy?"
"Most of them are completely under her dominion, finding it easiest and best to take the course of least resistance. Some few rebel, but they usually end by moving on. If you stay at the Pension Pace and wish to "requiescat in pace," you do as she says to do. I have defied her from the first and now I am rated as an undesirable boarder. Had it not been that she was wild to have you with her because of your relationship to the Marquise d'Ochtè, she would have raised some cock and bull story about my room having been engaged by someone a year ago and, since her honor was at stake, she would have to ask me to vacate.
"I tell you she is a sly one. You must either have lots and loads of money, or you must do as she says, do—or die. Of course she has an excellent house in a most desirable quarter and she caters to Americans. You will notice that the food is much more American than French; and after people have been knocking around the Continent, of course they are overjoyed to have some food that seems like home."
"But I don't want American food," wailed Molly. "I want French things, even snails; and I want to learn how to ask for these things in the most Frenchy style. What is the use in coming to Paris and staying with a stuffy old dame from Philadelphia and eating the things we have at home?"
"Oh, I am so glad you feel that way! How about you, Mrs. Brown? Papa and Mamma made me promise to do just as you thought best. They put me in Mrs. Pace's house and I have been determined not to worry them about changing, but I am 'most dead of her and her ways. Do say you think we ought to go to housekeeping or should get in a French family; anything to get out of the dragon's den," pleaded Judy.
"For how long did you engage our room?" asked Mrs. Brown, smiling at Judy's despair.
"One week; and mine, also, is taken by the week. She tried to make Papa sign for the whole winter, but he was on to her from the first and refused to do more than take it from week to week. He and Mamma stayed here a few days on their way to Turkey, and you would have died laughing if you had seen Mrs. Pace try to make Papa 'Fletcherize.' You know he always eats as though the train would not wait. At every meal she remarked on it and one day said at dinner: 'This is veal, Mr. Kean, and should be thoroughly masticated.' Whereupon he put down his knife and fork and, looking her solemnly in the eye, said: 'That is good advice no doubt for ordinary mortals, but after long years in railroad camps I have acquired a gizzard.' With that he took a great piece ofblanquette de veauand to all appearances swallowed it whole without changing his expression. I choked so I had to leave the table and I believe Mrs. Pace, to this day, thinks that by a skillful legerdemain I swallowed the veal! Anyhow, Bobby ate to suit himself after that."
"Oh, Judy, how ridiculous you are! I wish I could have seen Mr. Kean execute his daring feat," laughed Molly. "Mother, let's look around for an apartment and go to housekeeping immediately. I am sorry we told Elise O'Brien about Mrs. Pace's. I can't bear for her to be anywhere that is not pleasant. She has had tribulations enough in her day."
Judy had not yet heard anything of their fellow passengers, as they had been so occupied with Paris and the pension that they had had no time to tell her of their voyage and the pleasant people they had met. She was much interested in the fact that Miss O'Brien was to be at the art school for the winter and said she was a girl of undoubted talent. As for young Kinsella, he was the cleverest draughtsman at the League.
"Do you girls think you like Elise enough to have her come to live with us for the winter?" asked Mrs. Brown. "I feel sure the poor girl would be happy, and if you would all fit in together and be congenial, I really think it would be an act of charity to ask her. We must consider it from all sides before we rush into it, however."
"Mother, it would be splendid!" declared Molly. "I believe Mrs. Huntington was dying for you to ask Elise, but of course had to wait for you to suggest it. We could divide the expenses into four parts and I know it would be cheaper than boarding and infinitely more agreeable."
"Mrs. Brown, I am sure we should get on like a house afire, and it does seem as though we might take Elise in and give her a pleasant home. I promise to be real good and get on with everybody, if I can only know I am to leave theMaison Pacein peace," promised Judy.
So it was decided by these three impulsive souls to take in Elise O'Brien and to get a flat forthwith and leave the sheltering wing of the dragon. Mrs. Brown thought it best to stay a fortnight in their present quarters so they could look well about them; she also wanted to see her old friend and cousin, the Marquise d'Ochtè, for if she were anything like the Sally Bolling of old, she felt sure she could depend on her for some assistance in the matter of getting settled.
"Of course, she may have changed so, after being married to a French nobleman for some twenty-eight years, that I will hesitate to ask anything of her; but I have an idea old Sally could not change. I remember her as being a great harum-scarum but with the best heart in the world, and absolutely honest and unaffected. My experience is that honest, unaffected people do not change in the long run."
"What did she look like, Mother?" asked Molly.
"Well, when I come to think of it, she looked a little like you. She is only my second cousin, once removed, not such very close kin; but this red hair of yours comes cropping out in every generation or so in my family and the similar coloring makes one fancy a likeness even if there is none; but Sally had your eyes and your chin. She took life much more lightly than my Molly does, saw a jest where none was intended and sometimes cracked a joke when seriousness would have been in better taste. I have not seen her for many years and she stopped corresponding with all of us; not that there was any disagreement, but letter-writing simply died a natural death, as time went on. I am greatly interested in seeing her."
Mrs. Brown also decided to let Mr. Kinsella approach the O'Briens in regard to having Elise live with her. She was very well aware of Mrs. Huntington's nature and felt that that lady would be fully capable of treating her as though Elise were necessary to the housekeeping scheme to help out the financial end; and Mrs. Brown was determined to have no one with her as a boarder, but to run theménageon a co-operative principle, letting all of them share the expense.
Mrs. Huntington and Elise had stopped in Brussels for a visit with some friends and Mr. Kinsella and Pierce were still in Antwerp getting their fill of the pictures to be seen there. They were uncertain how long it would take them to grow tired of the interesting Belgian city and could not tell just when their friends might expect them in Paris.
When the three renegades returned from their walk in the Luxembourg Gardens, they hoped to reach their rooms without being seen by Mrs. Pace, but that lady's motto was "Eternal Vigilance," and no one went out of her house or came in unobserved. She met them as they stepped off the elevator on the fifth floor and gently but firmly admonished them for their disobedience. Molly noticed her mother's heightening color and her quivering nostrils and remembered with a smile what Aunt Mary, their old cook, always said to them when they were children: "Ole Miss is long suffrin' an' slow to anger but when her nose gits to wuckin', you chillun ought to learn that she done had 'nuf and you had better make yo'sefs scurse." Peace-loving Molly drew Mrs. Brown's arm through her own and gently pressing it, led her upstairs.
"Thank you, my dear, I was on the verge of attacking the dragon, and since we are to be here two weeks, I must not do anything to make it more difficult. But did you ever see anyone more impertinent?" asked Mrs. Brown, still sniffing the battle from afar.
"Never," sympathized Judy. "I wish you had said your say. I believe you could get ahead of the fabulous monster in open combat. She is, after all, a very flabby, fabulous monster and one prick would do for her."
"La Marquise d'Ochtèis attendingMadame Brunein thesalon au cinquième étage," announced a very excited little housemaid, who was supposed to speak English for the benefit of the American pensionnaires atMaison Pace. "Madame Paceis some time gone at theboucher, not expecting callers at so earlyheur.La Marquisedemanded notMadame Pace; but said verydistinctment 'Madame Brune et sa fille'."
"Very well, Alphonsine, thank you so much. My daughter and I will come down immediately," said Mrs. Brown, smiling at the agitation of the little maid. Mrs. Pace had evidently given her servants to understand the importance her pension gained from the visits of a marchioness.
"Milly, Milly, how I have longed to see you," and the Marquise d'Ochtè rose from her seat and clasped her one-time friend and beloved cousin in a warm embrace. "And this is your daughter? Goodness, child, you look like me,—at least, like me when I was young!"
Molly knew in the first second of greeting that she was going to like this cousin, and Mrs. Brown was delighted to see in the marchioness the same Sally Bolling of thirty years ago. She was like Molly in a way, but it was hard to realize that Molly could ever be quite so buxom as this middle-aged cousin. She was a very large woman with an excellent figure for her weight, and hair a little darker than Molly's with no silver threads showing so far.
"I pull 'em out if they dare to so much as show their noses. They say forty will come in when you pull out one, but then I'll make my maid pull out forty, if it kills me in the pulling," she declared when Mrs. Brown remarked on it in the course of their inventory of each other. "My Jean declares he got caught in my hair and could not get away, and I mean still to keep him."
"I am afraid I would snatch myself bald-headed if I tried to pull all of my gray hairs out," laughed Mrs. Brown; "but, Sally, you are exactly the same girl who left Kentucky ages ago; there is just a little more of you."
"A little more of me, indeed! There is about twice as much of me as there used to be. But, Milly, you are exactly the same; there is not even any more of you. You look much more like a member of the French nobility than I do."
The marchioness did not look in the least French, but more like a well-groomed English woman. Her dark brown suit was very simple and well made, and her shoes bore the earmarks of an English boot maker, fitting her perfectly but with low heels, broad toes and heavy soles. Her hat was the only French touch about her, and that could have been concocted in no spot in the world but Paris, so perfectly did it blend with her hair and furs.
"Now tell me all about yourselves and what you are going to do with your winter, and we can 'reminisce' another time. We must hurry before Henny Pace gets back from market. I came early so as to avoid her and see you a moment alone. She is a kind, good soul and I am really very fond of her for auld lang syne, but you might as well try to hold a conversation with a bumping bug in the room as Henrietta. Firstly, do you mean to stay here?"
Molly and her mother laughed outright at the bumping bug comparison. It was very apt.
"Why, Cousin Sally, we could not think of spending the winter being coerced at every turn," returned Molly. "We were hardly in the house before Mrs. Pace actually took Mother's clothes off and put her to bed, and last night at dinner she refused to let me have any coffee. She said it would ruin my complexion!"
The marchioness roared with laughter. "How like old Henny that is! She always was a boss, but I don't blame you for objecting. I let her seem to boss me just for the fun of it. I have known her since first coming to Paris and understand how good she is at bottom, but wild horses could not drag me to spend a night in her house. I ask her tola Roche Craieevery year and try to give her a rest, (she really works awfully hard,) but she is so busy there trying to change my housekeeper's methods and rearrange the linen presses that she gets very little rest after all. Jean cannot stand her, but my son Philippe sees the good in her that I have brought him up to see; and then he clings to any and everything American. I am anxious for you to know my husband and son and for them to meet you. Do you know French?"
"Mother speaks better French than I do in spite of my work at college," confessed Molly.
"Well, I studied French with the old time method more as we study Latin, and while my accent is vile, my verbs are all right. I am going to try to brace up in accent, and Molly and Judy are endeavoring to perfect themselves in grammar. But you have not met our friend Judy, Miss Julia Kean," said Mrs. Brown.
"No, I have not, but from all the complaints Henny Pace has made of her, I know she must be charming. When Henny gives a boarder a good character, I know without meeting her that she is some spineless old maid who is afraid to call her soul her own, or that she is a hypocrite like me who wants peace at any price. Now she tells me that Miss Kean is head-strong, self-willed, flippant, slangy, ill-bred, inconsiderate——"
"Oh, how could she tell such things?" interrupted Molly. "Why, Cousin Sally, Judy is splendid! She is independent and knows her own mind, and all of us are a little slangy, I am afraid; but she is very well-bred and Mother says the most considerate visitor she has ever had."
"Well, child, her report of your friend had no effect on me but to make me want to meet the young lady, so I can judge for myself. I want you and your mother to come and dine with us this evening at six-thirty and to bring Miss Kean with you. We will go to the opera to hearLouise. It is wonderful and I know you will like it," and la Marquise d'Ochtè smiled on her young Kentucky cousin and pressed her hand, pleased to see how she could speak up for her friend.
"We shall be delighted to come," said Mrs. Brown, "and I know Judy will appeal to you. She is a dear child and as free from affectation as you yourself. Now, Sally, tell me how we must go to work to find an apartment and where we should settle ourselves. We are far from affluent and want something inexpensive but, of course, respectable. Judy is to be with us; also a Miss Elise O'Brien, whose acquaintance we made on the steamer. You know so many persons, I wonder if you ever met her mother: she was a Miss Lizzie Peck, who married a young artist, George O'Brien, some twenty-five years ago here in Paris. At his death she married Mr. Huntington."
"Know Lizzie Peck? I should say I did,—the outrageous piece! You see, before Jean succeeded to the estate and before I had my windfall from Aunt Sarah Carmichael, we lived in a very small way and our principal society was in Bohemia. At that time Lizzie Peck was the beauty of the Latin Quarter. She was supposed to be studying art, and indeed she was quite clever. But she was such a belle and so busy drawing young men to her, that she did not give much time to any other drawing. George O'Brien was much too good for her in every way. He was one of the wittiest men I ever knew and good nature itself. It is to be hoped that the daughter Elise inherited a disposition from him and not from the flirtatious Lizzie. Jean always insisted that there was an understanding between Tom Kinsella and Lizzie, but I hardly think a man as keen as Tom could ever have been taken in by the likes of Lizzie," and the marchioness got up preparatory to making her departure.
"Why, Mother, to think of Cousin Sally's knowing Mr. Kinsella, too! You liked him, didn't you, Cousin Sally?" asked Molly eagerly. "He was on our steamer and so kind to us."
"Yes, my dear, I liked him very much and should like to see him again, and so would my Jean. I fancy a great many persons are kind to my little cousin," and she pinched Molly's blushing cheek. "Now, Milly, don't worry for one moment about an apartment as I am almost sure I know of a place that will just suit you. It is a studio apartment on the Rue Brea, just across the Luxembourg Garden from here. It belongs to an American artist named Bent. He and his wife are going to Italy for the winter and would be delighted to rent it furnished, I am sure. It is very superior to many of the studios in the Latin Quarter as it has a bathroom. But I am not going to tell you any more about it until I find out if you can get it, what the price is, and just what sleeping accommodations it has. I have my limousine at the door and shall go immediately to the Rue Brea, and to-night when you come to us for dinner I can tell you more.Au revoir, then, my long lost cousin," and she kissed Mrs. Brown on both cheeks.
"That is the first Frenchy thing she has done yet," thought Molly; and then when the elevator had slowly descended out of hearing distance she remarked to her mother: "How could anyone live in a foreign country for almost thirty years and stay so exactly like 'home folks'? Cousin Sally's accent is much more southern than yours and mine. Did you notice her 'sure' was almost 'sho' and she spoke of Lizzie Peck's dra-a-win' young men? I love her for keeping the same. And oh what fun to be going there to dinner! I can hardly wait for Judy to come home from the studio to tell her."
Mrs. Brown was equally pleased with her cousin's having remained so unaffected and looked forward with much pleasure to renewing the girlhood intimacy, and also to meeting the Marquis d'Ochtè, of whom his wife spoke so enthusiastically as "my Jean," and the son Philippe. She had some misgivings about the son because the literature of the day does not paint a young Frenchman in particularly desirable colors as the companion of girls; but she hoped that the mother's innate good sense had served to bring up the boy in the proper way. Then Molly and Judy could meet him as they would any young man from their own country, and he would understand their easy freedom of manner and of speech, different, she well knew, from that of the unmarried French girl. She determined to say nothing to the girls of the difference, as she did not want them changed or embarrassed by self-consciousness, and she felt sure of their having breeding andsavoir faireto carry them through any situation with flying colors.
As the marchioness had indicated, she had married before Jean had succeeded to the estates and indeed before he had any idea of being the heir presumptive. His uncle, the Marquis d'Ochtè, was at the time a comparatively young man, a widower with a son of twelve; and everyone expected that he would marry again and perhaps have other sons. Jean d'Ochtè, when she met him, was a rising young journalist, making, however, but a meager salary. His father was dead. His mother, Madame d'Ochtè, was a very superior woman and recognized Sally Bolling's worth in spite of the fact that she had but a tiny dot to bestow at her marriage. She saw her son's infatuation for the American girl and gave her consent to the marriage, without which, as is the law in France, they could not have been wed. Sally's alliance gave her theentréeinto the most exclusive homes of the Faubourg St. Germain but she was not a whit impressed by it. She took her honors so simply and naturally that she won the hearts of all her husband's connection and they ended by applauding the leniency of Madame d'Ochtè in permitting the match, which they had formerly condemned as sentimental.
Jean and his wife spent their first married years living in the simplest style and Sally learned the economy for which the French are famous. Then came the windfall of fifty thousand dollars from Aunt Sarah Carmichael, which reconciled the exclusive Faubourg more than ever to the match; and then the death of the little cousin of Jean's, making him his uncle's heir; and finally the death of the uncle, which gave Jean the title of Marquis d'Ochtè. It meant giving up his profession, to which he was much attached; but the estates had to be looked after and the dignity of the title maintained; and now there was leisure for the reading and writing of plays, which had been his secret ambition.
Sally made a delightful marchioness. She had been accustomed to the best society in Kentucky and she declared good society was the same all over the world; as far as she could see the only way to get on was just to be yourself and not put on airs. She was very popular in the select circle to which the title of Marquise d'Ochtè admitted her but she did not confine herself to that circle; she knew all kinds and conditions of people, and never forgot a friend, no matter how humble.
Judy was very much excited at the prospect of dining with a live member of the old nobility, but her excitement was nothing to that of Mrs. Pace. That lady, when she received the message from Mrs. Brown telling her they would not be at home for dinner as they would dine out, immediately climbed to the seventh story to find out where they were to dine, and on being informed of their destination, she went off into transports of delight. Her ardor was somewhat dampened when it was divulged that Judy was to be one of the party.
"Sally is very good natured but entirely too democratic for her position as the wife of one of the very oldest of the nobility in France. Of course she asked Miss Kean because of her friendship with your daughter," panted the irate dame, out of breath from her climb up two flights.
"I don't believe that was the only reason," said Molly, rather glad to give Mrs. Pace a dig after her report of her darling Judy. "Cousin Sally said she had been anxious to meet Miss Kean from what you had told her of my friend; so you are really responsible for the pleasure in store for her."
"Well, I only hope she appreciates the honor done her," spluttered Mrs. Pace. "What are you going to wear? A dinner in the Faubourg and the Opera afterward calls for the very best in your wardrobe."
"Perhaps you had better advise us about our clothes," said Mrs. Brown sweetly, remembering what her cousin had said of Mrs. Pace's kind heart and how she humored her by seeming to let her boss her. "I have a very pretty black crêpe de Chine. I think I am too old to go décolleté, but I am sure this is suitable, especially as I have nothing else."
"It is perfectly suitable, and if you take my advice you will wear it and leave the neck exactly as it is with that lovely old lace finishing it off in a V. For pity sakes, don't tell Sally you are too old for low necks as she is about your age and wears décolleté gowns on every occasion where one is warranted," said Mrs. Pace, much pleased at being taken into anyone's confidence on the subject of clothes or anything else.
Molly, taking her cue from her mother, then got out her dress and showed it to the eager landlady.
"It is lovely and just your color. Sally used to be given to that blue when she was young, but she says now she is too big and red to wear anything but brown or black. You must have a taxi to go in. I will attend to it for you. I hope Miss Kean will not do herself up in any fantastic, would-be artistic get-up, but will do you and your daughter credit, to say nothing of me, after I have got her this invitation," and Mrs. Pace bustled off, filled with importance.
Mrs. Brown and the girls, left alone at last, dressed themselves with the greatest care for the occasion, realizing what it meant to dine with the nobility and then go to the far-famed Opera.
"Only think, the tomb of Napoleon, dinner with a marquis and the Opera, all in one day! I almost wish we had put off the tomb until to-morrow. Our impressions are coming too fast," exclaimed Molly.
At the toot of the horn, the porte cochère of the Hotel d'Ochtè was thrown open by a venerable porter and the taxi containing Mrs. Brown and the girls swept into the court in great style. How beautiful it was! The soft color of the stone walls blended with the formal box bushes and tubs of oleanders; here and there a wrought-iron lantern projected from the pilasters; rows of snub-nosed caryatides held up little balconies, also of wrought iron, of the most delicate design and workmanship. Judy held her breath at the effect of line and color and wondered if she would ever know the inmates well enough to be allowed to make a picture of the court.
They were met in the hall by the most gracious and least formal of hostesses and taken immediately to her boudoir to remove their wraps.
"And this is Miss Julia Kean, the friend of my cousin, as the easy lessons in French put it. I am afraid I shall just have to call you Judy, my dear, and not start out trying to 'miss' you. And Molly in my own blue! Ah, child, for the first time in my life I tremble for the affections of my Jean! There is something about the combination of that particular blue with red hair that goes to his head. Milly, you are beautiful! How proud I am of my kin!" And the marchioness chattered on, leading them down a long, dim hall, hung with tapestries and armor, to the library.
"We live in our library. It is so much cosier than the great salon and we feel more at home in the smaller room; and here we can talk without having to shout across space."
The door was opened at their approach by Philippe who bowed low as they entered and stood aside, while they were introduced to his father, the Marquis d'Ochtè.
The marquis was a very interesting-looking man, tall for a Frenchman, with merry brown eyes and a black, closely cut, pointed beard. His hair was iron gray, thick and rather bushy. His manner was very cordial and all of the ladies were secretly relieved to find that he spoke English fluently, if with an accent.
Philippe was a handsomer man than his father, having that rare combination of coloring: dark eyes and golden hair. He wore a pointed beard, too, as is the almost invariable custom of Frenchmen; his eye was as merry as his father's and he had inherited his mother's strong chin, big honest mouth and perfect teeth. The d'Ochtè family certainly made a wonderfully fine looking trio. The marchioness was radiant in black velvet and diamonds, her neck and arms beautiful and white, her abundant hair parted in the middle and done in a loose knot on her neck. She was a very distinguished looking woman and worthy to take her place with royalty as well as with the nobility. Years had touched her but lightly; but the eternal youth in her heart, as in that of Mrs. Brown, was what gave her the charm of expression and manner.
Cordial relations were established immediately between old and young.
"There is nothing like a good American handshake to make strangers acquainted," said the host, looking admiringly at his wife's cousins and their attractive companion, Judy, who in spite of Mrs. Pace's fears that she might get herself up in "paint rags," was most artistically gowned in old-rose messaline. "It is more pleasure than I can express to meet the cousins of my Sara; also Mademoiselle Kean, of whom we have heard much from the respected Madame Pace," he added with a mischievous twinkle.
"Heavens, how must I behave if Mrs. Pace has already given me a character?" exclaimed Judy. "Must I be as she says I am, or must I be as she wants me to be?"
"Be yourself, and you will be as we want you," said the marchioness, kindly. "Jean and Philippe do not have the chance to meet many American girls and they do not, as a rule, care to meet Henny's boarders, who are usually dry-as-dust old maids, especially the ones Henny recommends."
"Oh, please don't change yourselves, any of you," begged Philippe in a voice and accent so southern that it was amusing coming from a veritable Frenchman. "All my life, I have longed to meet some of my cousins and to hear more of the Kentucky stories, and of Chatsworth and the Carmichael place. Does Cousin Sarah Carmichael, Mrs. Clay, I believe she is now, still take the biggest piece of cake, and are the beech trees as beautiful as they were when my mother used to play under them with you, Cousin Mildred?"
"Oh, Philippe, you should not tell tales out of school! Sarah is Milly's sister and she might not like the cake reminiscences. Sarah was mighty grabby, though, wasn't she, Milly? I am afraid she will never forgive me for getting the legacy from Aunt Sarah Carmichael. You see we were both named for her and Sarah naturally expected an equal division if not the 'biggest piece of cake,' and when the whole fifty thousand came to me, it was a sad blow to Sarah. But she was quite comfortable and Jean and I were the needy members of the family, as far as money went. That was all we did need as we had everything else," and the marchioness laid her hand lightly on her husband's bushy hair whence he gently drew it down to his cheek.
Mrs. Brown could not help smiling over Sister Clay and the big piece of cake. She remembered how the two Sarahs had always been at daggers drawn. Her sister was much older than Sally Bolling and had always been critical of the lively girl who had repaid her by laughing at her and cracking jokes at her expense.
"Yes indeed, Philippe, the beeches are even more beautiful having had some years since then to grow. Trees are one of the things that improve with age. I hope you will come to Kentucky and make us a long visit and see all of your kin and their homes," said Mrs. Brown cordially.
"That would be fine, if the mother and father could come, too. You don't know how beautiful your southern tongue sounds to me, Cousin Mildred. You say 'kin' just as my mother does and as I do. I am laughed at by my English friends for my way of speaking their language, but I would not give up my southern accent for worlds."
Dinner was announced, interrupting Philippe, and they made their way to thesalle a manger. The marquis gave his arm to Mrs. Brown; Judy fell to the share of the handsome young son; and the marchioness put her arm affectionately around Molly's waist.
"My dear," she said, "having you with us is a pleasure, indeed. I wish I had a daughter just like you. I think your mother might spare you to me. She has two other daughters and four sons. That is too much for any woman."
"You had better not say that to mother," laughed Molly. "The only time I ever saw her lose her temper with Aunt Clay, who would try the patience of a saint, was when Aunt Clay intimated that it would be much more economical if there had been only half of us, three children and a half instead of seven. I was a tiny little girl, but I can remember how I crawled under the table I was so scared. I had never seen mother get really mad before and she turned on Aunt Clay in such a rage that I felt sorry for her. You know it must have been pretty bad if I felt sorry for Aunt Clay, for she is the one person in the world I can't like."
"Molly, we are alike in more ways than one! She is an abomination unto me! Sarah Clay made my childhood unhappy. You see, I had no regular home as my mother and I were very poor. We spent much of our time visiting and Cousin George Carmichael, your grandfather, was goodness itself to us. The Carmichael place was more like home than any other to me. I simply loved it and spent many happy hours playing with your dear mother; but Sarah never lost a chance to rub it in on me that I was in a measure a dependent. As a child it would cut me to the quick; but as I got older and made my visits at Cousin George's, I would retaliate by making game of my older cousin; and no one can abide being made fun of. I tell you I gave her tit for tat and usually came out ahead. But we must stop this whispering. Your mother can't stand any criticism of her sister. Some day we can get together and say all the mean things we've a mind to about old Sarah!" Then the marchioness was transformed in the twinkling of an eye from the naughty Sally Boiling to the gracious hostess, seeing that her guests were seated and leading the conversation into the most agreeable channels.
The dinner was perfect, every detail in absolute taste, served beautifully but with an elegant simplicity. Molly made mental notes on the sauce with the fish, trying to find out without asking what was in it; and then the gravy with the filet of beef occupied her attention. Such a wonderful gravy with a character all its own. She remembered what Edwin Green had told her of the Frenchman who was visiting America. When asked his impressions of the country, he had said: "America is a country with a thousand different religions and one sauce." She wondered what Miss Morse would think of this gravy, and smiled as she recalled the lecture on gravies delivered by that highly educated teacher of domestic science and the smooth, perfect specimen she demonstrated, with no more flavor than Miss Morse herself.
"What is the little joke my Cousin Mollee is having all to herself," asked the marquis.
Molly frankly confessed what had made her smile, since her cousin wanted to know, and of course in her confession praise of the gravy had to be included.
"Brava, brava," and the Marquis d'Ochtè clapped his hands. "She is like my Sara in all ways. She is also a discriminator in foods. This gravy, my dear Mademoiselle, is thechef d'[oe]uvreof my chef. You notice the butler, Jules, has left the room.Pourquoidoes he go? He cannot wait to tell Gaston, the chef, that Madame's cousin from across the seas has been so gracious as to praise his work of art. If you will turn ever so little you will see the happy face of Gaston peeping in to view the beautiful young lady."
Molly turned, and sure enough, tip-toeing to see over the shoulder of Jules the butler, was Gaston, his face radiant.
"Molly is a wonderful cook herself," said Judy. "She has an instinct for food that is truly remarkable. At college an invitation to a Molly Brown spread was looked upon with greater reverence than being asked to have tea with the President. But has she not learned from Aunt Mary, that dear old colored woman who cooks like an angel? We trembled for fear that the domestic science teacher would ruin Molly's touch and make her too academic, but I hope it hasn't."
"Dear Aunt Mary, I had almost forgotten her!" exclaimed the marchioness. "Don't tell me you can make Aunt Mary's spoon corn bread, Molly! If you can, I'll make the Bents move out of their studio to-morrow so you can move in. And I'll come to live with you and get you to make me some for every meal until all the cornmeal to be purchased at the American grocers' is used up!"
"Indeed she can, Sally, and many things besides. Aunt Mary has initiated her into all the secrets of her trade," said Mrs. Brown. "I remember so well hearing the old woman say to Molly, when she was a little girl, 'Ef you wan' ter know how ter make bread, you have ter begin at de beginnin'. Now yeast is de fust an' maindest thing and tater yeast is the onliest kin' fit ter use, an' you can't git taters 'thout diggin' 'em; so fer the fust step, s'pose you go an' dig some taters.' So, you see, my Molly can do it all."
"Oh, how I love to hear about Aunt Mary!" sighed Philippe. "Am I to have some of this ambrosial bread, too, Cousin Molly?"
"Yes, indeed, but I am afraid the meal we get in Paris will not be right. Tell us, Cousin Sally, about the studio in the Rue Brea. Can we get it? We have had so many things to talk about, we have not asked you about it."
"The Bents expect to go to Italy for six months and are very much pleased to have good tenants in their absence. I am going to take you and your mother and Miss Kean, if she can come, to see the place to-morrow morning. The rent is reasonable, ridiculously cheap even, one hundred and twenty-five francs a month."
Mrs. Brown's face fell at the rental named by her cousin. The marchioness saw it and gave a merry laugh. "I know just what you are doing, Milly; you are thinking in dollars. I said a hundred and twenty-fivefrancs; that is only twenty-five dollars."
"Oh, how silly I am! I did think you meant dollars. Of course, that is cheap and well within our means. We are so grateful to you, Sally, and I am sure it will suit," said Mrs. Brown, blushing at her mistake, which she need not have done as it is no easy matter to think in foreign money.
The dinner went gaily on. Molly and Judy told Philippe all about Wellington College, and he in turn had much to tell them of Nancy, where he had been studying forestry after his course at the Sorbonne. The marquis and marchioness had many questions to ask Mrs. Brown of the relatives in Kentucky. The talk was interesting and delightful and they felt as though they had known one another always.
They lingered over their coffee and cheese until the butler announced that the limousine was at the door ready to take them to the Opera. There was a general move for wraps and gloves, but Philippe stopped his mother long enough to embrace her and whisper in her ear: "Both of them are jewels and I can't tell which one is the more precious"; and Molly and Judy, unconscious of their being rivals, hugged each other in Cousin Sally's boudoir and said in chorus: "What an Adonis!"
The ride through the brilliantly lighted streets; across the Seine with its myriad of small boats with their red and green lanterns; through the Place du Carrousel where the Louvre loomed up dark and mysterious; under the arch and across the Rue de Rivoli; then into the Avenue de l'Opera, seemed to Mrs. Brown and Molly the very most delightful experience of their "great adventure." It was an old story to Judy but one she could not hear too often, this Paris at night; and the marchioness confessed that after thirty years, the Avenue, if you approached it as they were doing, gave her a thrill that was ever new and wonderful. They proceeded slowly, as the procession of automobiles was endless.
"The horse is almost an extinct animal in Paris," said the marquis to Mrs. Brown, who had remarked that she feared she was coming to Paris too late to see the much written of type of "cab, cab horse and cabby." One sees occasionally a specimen of the old days: rickety cab, thin horse and fat, red-facedcocher; but such an equipage seems to be in demand only by the very timid who are afraid to trust themselves to the modern means of locomotion. Those poor souls are not, as a rule, on the boulevards at this hour, but shut snugly behind doors, locked and barred, safe from the "dread Apaches and all the terrors of the night."
"I love automobiles," exclaimed Molly, "but nothing could ever take the place of a horse to me, even a poor, abused, old cab horse."
"Ah then, you can ride!" cried the delighted Philippe. "And you, too, Miss Kean? American girls are the finest on earth surely," (only he said "sholy"). "We have horses atRoche Craieand all of us ride. Mother is a splendid horsewoman."
"Yes indeed, I am going to ride just as long as a horse can be found big enough to carry me," laughed the marchioness. "Sometimes I think my poor beast must look like a pet duck I had when I was a child. It got run over by a wagon, and my old mammy said, 'Yo' lil duck got run over, honey chile. He is right down in the back but still able to bear up!'
"But it is fine that you girls can ride, and when you come to visit us atRoche Craieyou can have some famous gallops. I hate the English riding horse with his eternal trotting and the rider working himself to death posting. Our horses are good Kentucky riding stock with gaits. I hope you brought your riding habits."
"I did!" and "I did!" said Molly and Judy almost in the same breath.
"I never move without my riding habit, bathing suit and skates," declared Judy. "I learned my lesson about my bathing suit once when I spent the summer in camp with Papa. I did not know we would have any bathing worthy the name and did not put mine in the trunk. When we got there we found that the only form of bath that could be had was in a creek as there was not even a basin in camp, and there was I without a bathing suit! Papa was furious at my stupidity. We were miles from any kind of shop. 'Necessity is the mother of invention,' so I took a big laundry bag, cut slits for arms and legs, tied the draw string around my neck, and with a neat belt I looked quite chic. It did not give me much freedom for swimming but I could at least get the necessary bath."
Every one roared at the picture Judy drew of herself tied up in the laundry bag and just then they got out of the jam on the Avenue, crossed the great Boulevard des Italiens, and stopped at the beautiful entrance to the Opera.
The d'Ochtè box was in the first tier and proved very roomy and comfortable, commanding an excellent view of the house as well as the stage.
"We have come early on purpose," said the marchioness, "as I wanted you to see the house fill. I can point out any celebrities I happen to know before the performance begins."
The girls and Mrs. Brown were seated in the front, with the host and hostess and their son in the back of the box. There were two extra seats, but madame declared that she liked to have some left for visitors.
"Louiseis the opera of all others to introduce strangers to Paris," explained Philippe to Molly. "It is Paris, Paris sounds, Paris sights, the tragedy and comedy of Paris."
Molly was devoutly thankful that she had bought the libretto of the opera ofLouisewhen she and her mother had ventured out to see the tomb of Napoleon after the visit of Cousin Sally in the morning; and when they were taking their much needed rest before dressing for dinner in the Faubourg, she had read it aloud to her mother.
"I was so afraid I might miss something," she explained ingenuously to her cousin. "You see, mother and I want to see and hear everything we can. We have done so little traveling and seen so little in our lives that this coming to Paris is like a visit to fairyland to us. I am afraid I'll wake up and find it is all a dream."
"I feel as though I were in a dream, too," said Philippe. "I have had so little chance to talk to girls like you and Miss Kean.La jeune fille,bien élevèe, in France is so missish and afraid to speak out to a man. You and your friend look me straight in the eye without the least affectation of timidity, just as though you were boys instead of girls; and at the same time you are delightfully feminine. It is a strange thing to me to watch one of these girls of my country, with downcast eyes and so much modesty she can hardly speak above a whisper. The moment she becomesmadameall this timidity disappears, and in the twinkling of an eye she is the charming young married woman, full of all the arts and graces. The transformation is so sudden, it makes one doubt the sincerity of the former modesty. Mother says the French girl is thus because it is what the average Frenchman wants, the old story of supply and demand. But I am half Anglo-Saxon and want no such person for my wife. My mother has spoiled me, and I can never be happy with a hypocrite."
Molly smiled, thinking that while her cousin was declaring himself Anglo-Saxon, he was certainly not talking like one. Such candor is seldom seen in the male Anglo-Saxon. His warmth and fervor were decidedly French.
The house was beginning to fill and many glasses were leveled at the box of Madame la Marquise d'Ochtè. The general verdict was that it was a very effective grouping. Certainly there were not two middle-aged women in the whole audience more distinguished looking or handsomer than the marchioness and her cousin; nor were there two fresher or sweeter looking girls, charming in their eagerness to see and not for one moment conscious that they were attracting any attention. The marquis and Philippe formed a pleasing background of masculinity to these beautiful women.
The opening scene,Louise'sgarret room in her father's house with the view through the window of her lover's studio; the duet with her lover in which she tells him of her father's refusal to their marriage; and then her promise to run away with him in event of her parent's persisting in his hard-hearted resolution to separate them, seemed to Molly most wonderful and touching; but when the mother came in and berated the lover,Julien, as "a rascal, a starveling, a dissipator"; and whenLouisedefended him as being "so good, so courageous," and the mother retaliated by calling him the pillar of a wine shop and attempted to beat her daughter, Molly covered her eyes and wept, all unconscious of the amused glances of the occupants of the neighboring box.
But in a moment she was watching again: The father has come in and there is some sort of reconciliation between him and Louise, although her mother is still furious and slaps her in the face when she takes up for him; then the father interferes and embracesLouise, and they are finally all seated around the table, the mother with her sewing, the father with his pipe, whenLouisestarts to read aloud from the newspaper: "The Spring Season is most brilliant. All Paris is in holiday garb."Louisestops reading and after a moment sobs: "Paris——" and the curtain slowly descends.
There was a storm of applause, and Molly came to the realization that she was in a fair way to have a red nose if she did not control her emotions. She gave a sad little smile and hoped that Philippe would talk to Judy and let her be sure of herself before she trusted her voice.
As she looked out over the "sea of upturned faces," she saw Mr. Kinsella and Pierce in the pit. They were applauding vigorously but Mr. Kinsella had an eye on their box, evidently in hopes of recognition. Molly gave him a delighted bow and then told her mother and the marchioness of his presence. The marquis overheard her remark.
"What! Do you mean my old friend, Tom Kinsella? Where, where? Point him out to me. I'll go and bring him to our box."
He hurried out and made his way to where the Kinsellas were seated. The twenty-five years since he had seen his American friend were forgotten. He remembered him as the glowing, enthusiastic boy, for whom the whole Latin Quarter felt such sympathy when he had to give up his beloved art and go into business. It escaped his mind entirely that time had not stood still with Tom Kinsella any more than with him. Jean d'Ochtè made a very natural mistake. He put his arm lovingly around Pierce and in his impulsive French way said: "Mon cher Tom, je t'embrasse."
Pierce looked up, very much amused at being hugged at the Opera by a distinguished looking French gentleman with a black beard and bushy, gray hair. Mr. Kinsella rose from his seat and clasping the marquis by the hand, exclaimed:
"Jean, how splendid to meet you on this my first night in Paris after all these years! Don't apologize for mistaking my nephew for me," and he introduced Pierce to him, calling him "Monsieur d'Ochtè," being entirely ignorant of the fact of his old friend's having inherited a title and estates. "Now tell me of Madame. I do hope I am to be allowed to see her."
"Certainment, my friend. She now awaits you in the box where we are entertaining Sara's cousins, Mrs. and Miss Brown, of Kentukee, also a charmingjeune fille, by name Miss Kean."
Uncle and nephew were led, willing captives, to fill the unoccupied seats in the box. Mrs. Brown and Molly were delighted to see them again, and Judy and Pierce plunged into a discussion of art schools and pictures. The marchioness was overjoyed to meet a friend from the old Bohemian days and her husband was like a boy in his enthusiasm over this long lost companion. Philippe looked a little sad and downcast, although he was studiously polite to the strangers. He had been having such a splendid time with the girls that he could not help resenting the interruption to his pleasure caused by the entrance of these two Americans. He was secretly glad when the curtain went up and the whole party was forced to give their attention to the stage.
The next act, in front of the wine shop, the loverJulienand his companions playing and making horseplay, had the note of true comedy and Molly could find nothing to weep over, for which she was truly thankful. She whispered to Mr. Kinsella that when there was anything to cry over, she simply had to cry, and he said:
"I see you have what Mr. Dooley calls 'the stage delusion'. It is a delightful quality to feel the reality of the drama and not remember there is any 'behind the scenes'. I fancy at this minuteLouise, who got a little husky in that duet withJulien, when she promised to leave her mother and father and come to him, is off in her dressing room spraying her throat and gargling with peroxide to get her voice in trim for the third act. In that she has a long and very beautiful love scene in the little home at the apex of the Butte Montmartre whereJulientakes her."
"Why did you come to Paris so soon?" asked Mrs. Brown just then. "You meant to exhaust the sights of Antwerp before leaving, did you not?"
"Well, you see the sights exhausted me before I exhausted them, and then, likeLouise, I felt the call of Paris. We got in only an hour ago, and after a very hasty dinner came to the Opera.Louiseseemed to me to be the very best introduction I could give my nephew to this wonderful city."
"That is exactly what I have been saying to my cousin Molly!" broke in Philippe. "It seems to me that Charpentier has given the true Paris with all of its charm and its dangers. Of course one should see this opera for the first time in the spring of the year, as that is when Paris is most alluring and in that season the scene is laid."
"Molly, look in the second tier of boxes almost directly opposite us and see if that good looking young woman in the ratheroutrégown is an acquaintance of yours," said the marchioness. "She has been looking at our box steadily ever since we arrived."
"Her face is familiar but I can't place her. Judy, see if you know her," said Molly, as she adjusted Mr. Kinsella's opera glasses to her eyes. She and Judy got the focus at the same moment and exclaimed in unison: "Frances Andrews!"
"She is a girl we knew in our freshman year at college" explained Molly to her Cousin Sally. "I remember she came to Paris to join her grandmother, but we have never seen or heard of her since she left college. She was a very peculiar person but clever and bright, and always awfully nice to me."
"Humph!" sniffed Judy. "I'd like to see the person who isn't nice to you, you old saint! The only thing I ever liked about Frances Andrews was that she got into bigger scrapes than I did and made my misdemeanors seem small in comparison. She was clever enough, I'll grant you that, but peculiar is a kind adjective to use in describing that girl. Why, Molly, she was the most unpopular girl at Wellington. Even her own class did not stand by her. She was crooked, as crooked as a snake."
"Oh, Judy, there was a lot of good in Frances, but she got in bad with her class and could not redeem herself somehow. She was so young, too, and I haven't a doubt that she is vastly improved," and Molly caught the eager eye of the handsome girl in the opposite box and gave her a cordial bow.
In a moment an usher brought a card to the door of the d'Ochtè box. On it was scrawled the following note:
"Molly darling: I am wild to see you. Give me your address and I'll come to-morrow.—Frances."
Molly wrote the address of theMaison Paceand said she would be glad to see her, but had an engagement for the time named. She was a little sorry that Frances had turned up, as she knew that Judy would refuse to see any good in her and did not know just how the very sophisticated young woman would impress her mother. But Molly was not one to turn her back on any one who was fond of her and she had always been sorry for Frances, feeling in the old days at college that she had been too easily condemned by her classmates. "There was good in her," reiterated Molly to herself, "and there still is, and I am going to be nice to her. Judy can be as stand-offish as she pleases. I know mother will be kind; she always is."
The last act ofLouisewas the most wonderful of all and Molly felt herself becoming so filled with emotion that she feared she would spill over again. She was grateful to Mr. Kinsella when he said to her in an undertone: "The gargle evidently did her good as the huskiness has gone." She smiled in spite of herself and the tears had to go.
It was over all too soon.Louise'sfather, after he realizes thatLouisehas gone for good to her devoted lover in Montmartre, gazes through the garret window at Paris, which, lighted, seems like a thousand-eyed monster to the old man. He shakes his fist in a rage and cries, "Oh,Paris!"
As they put on their wraps, Molly heard the marchioness whisper to her husband: "Ah, Jean, your mother was wise to let us marry, wise and good. How much better it would have been for this poor old man if he could have let youth have its say!"
"Ah, my Sara, indeed she was. And nowma mèrecan still hear the voice of Paris calling as didLouisein the first act, and she does not have to curse it as didla pèrein the last." And the marquis disguised a fervent hug in the pretext of helping his wife with her cloak.